Between the Lines
by DakotaDelacour
Summary: Anticipated three part Dramione series. One: spans first through fifth years at Hogwarts. Two: sixth year through the end of the war with memory modification as a major component, deviates from canon more than part one. Three: aftermath of the war. (Chapters are short, aiming to keep fic around 30,000 - 50,000 words total. Reviews encouraged, helps keep me motivated!)
1. part one: scene one

A few steps from the entrance of Flourish and Blotts, there's a display table full of Hogwarts required books, and standing opposite that table from Draco Malfoy is a dark-skinned girl with an enormous amount of hair. A Muggle-born. It's her humdrum outfit, jean shorts and a loose t-shirt, that gives her status away.

Feeling rebellious, angry at his father for earlier denying him a Nimbus 2000, Draco makes a snap decision: he'll speak with this Muggle-born. And if he's lucky, Mother, who he's meant to meet at Flourish and Blotts, will catch him in the act. She'll scold him for not behaving as a Pure-blood ought to behave, and then she'll report it all back to Father. And Father, Draco muses, will learn not to refuse his only child, his heir, the latest racing broom.

"You'll want to add _Hogwarts: A History_ to your list," he says, closing the distance between himself and the girl.

"Sorry? Hogwarts -"

"It's not required, but for someone like you, it'll -"

"Someone like me?" the girl interjects, irritation and amusement in her voice, a forced smile on her face.

"Someone without family members who can tell them what to expect."

There's a beat of silence. The girl's searching for confirmation of offense. But Draco's tone, his expression, is impassive not hateful. "Is it obvious?" she asks after a moment. "That I'm not -"

Draco looks pointedly at the girl's outfit. She looks down at herself then back at him.  
"But you're -" She gestures at Draco. But before she can finish suggesting his perfectly tailored khakis, tucked in button-down, and expensive dragonhide loafers are similar to her own outfit, Draco attempts clarification.

"Let me put it this way," he says, "not even the Weasleys wear collarless shirts in public."

The girl doesn't know who the Weasleys are, of course, but the overall message is clear.

"Well, thanks so much," she huffs. "You've been really helpful." She turns and heads for the nearest aisle of books.

Draco's first instinct is to follow the girl. Not because of the Nimbus 2000 or his plan to teach Father a lesson. He's already forgotten those things. What he's thinking about now is more convoluted: the girl doesn't seem so bad, not as bad as he'd expected a Muggle-born to be anyway. Maybe if he followed her, spoke with her a little longer… The possibilities both excite and frighten Draco, which is reason enough to deny his instincts. He remains near the display table until Mother arrives.


	2. part one: scene two

On the first of September, several hours into the train ride, the door to Draco's compartment slides open. He and the group of boys he sits with, boys Father would approve of, take in the sight of the Muggle-born girl.

"Someone's lost their pet toad," she says. "Have any of you seen one?"

The boys report that they have not.

And then a terrifying thing happens. As she's sliding the door closed, the girl suddenly stops. She recognizes Draco.

"Hello again," she says coolly.

Draco squirms in his seat, thinks of ignoring her. But what if that leads to something worse? Quickly, he glances in her direction, nods once. That should do the trick, right?

Wrong. There's a long pause, thick with tension as the girl stares.

"I bought that book you suggested," she says after a bit.

Clever. Calculating. Able to read the situation perfectly, to cause damage without actually saying anything insulting. She'll come to regret it, wait and -

"Right. Well, I'd better keep looking," the girl says, cutting off Draco's thoughts. She closes the compartment door the rest of the way and is gone.

As best and as quickly as he can, Draco explains about the Nimbus 2000, and to his immense relief, the other boys nod along. They understand. They too were denied new brooms, their parents pointing out that first year students aren't allowed to have them at Hogwarts.  
"It was stupid of me," Draco admits, "letting someone like _her_ think she can talk to someone like _me_."

There's more nodding from the boys and a murmur of assent too. One of the boys, though, the one Draco's known the longest, his neighbor Theodore Nott, is less enthusiastic about his assent than the others.

"What's her name?" Theo asks abruptly.

But Draco doesn't know, and they don't learn the answer until that night.

Inside the castle, a stern looking witch who has introduced herself as Professor McGonagall calls the first years up to the Sorting Hat one at a time.

"Granger, Hermione."

The dark-skinned girl with enormous hair steps up. She's Sorted into Gryffindor.


	3. part one: scene three

Though he torments most of the Gryffindors in his year, Draco chooses to ignore the girl. He tells himself it's less of a choice and more of a natural consequence of her dullness.

Yes, Hermione Granger is dull. Dull, dreary, drab. Uninteresting, uninspiring, unexciting.

Easy to forget. Easy to ignore. So that's what he does, ignores her. Every time her hands shoots up in class. Every time she earns her house five more points. Every time she does some bit of magic flawlessly on the first try. He ignores her even after the incident with the troll on Halloween, after she's become Harry Potter's friend and the whole school, the sixth and seventh year students included, know her name. And when they're both made to serve detention in the Forbidden Forest. And when they're back in Diagon Alley the next summer and he sees her Muggle parents for the first time. Draco ignores Hermione Granger fairly well for over a year. But then she ruins what was meant to be a perfect encounter, the Slytherins showing off their Nimbus 2001s, and he can't ignore her any longer.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," she taunts. "They got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Draco's face flickers.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!"

There's an instant uproar from the Gryffindors, a loud bang, a jet of green light, and - and _slugs_! Slugs falling out of a Ron Weasley's mouth, a half dozen at a time. The Slytherin Quidditch team is paralyzed with laughter.

Draco plays his part, laughing right along, but he's mortified. He's just insulted the cleverest witch in school. And with _that_ word! The things she could do in retaliation…

He stays up late that night, sitting on a couch in the common room, his nose in a Herbology book he's not really reading.

"You want to talk about it?" asks Theo Nott quietly.

"About what?"

"About Granger."

"What _about_ Granger?"

Theo doesn't answer right away. When he does, his voice is even lower than before.

"You like her, don't you?"

Draco is equal parts surprised and disgusted. "Not in the slightest," he declares in a whisper, his eyes darting around the room.

Only in the next instant does it occur to him that Theo might be onto something. He's avoided thinking much about it, but it's true that being around Granger leaves him flusters, leaves him feeling seven or eight years old again, back to being a kid who can't stop begging his father for horseback riding lessons or for permission to play in the creek that separates his family's property from the Nott's.

Maybe he's drawn to Granger because that's just the sort of undignified thing Father would oppose. The realization itself doesn't bother Draco, but that it came to him only through Theo's questioning does.

"What made you think to ask me that?" he asks, setting his book aside.

"I don't think anyone else has noticed," Theo assures. "I just think - Well, you insult Potter and Weasley constantly. Longbottom too. Anyone who's an easy target, really. But not Granger. Not until today, anyway. And now… Well, look at you, you're sulking."

"I am _not_ sulking."

"You _are_ sulking. You feel guilty. And that's a first, so I just thought -"

"I am not sulking," Draco repeats. "And I don't feel guilty. And I don't like -" He catches himself no longer whispering, notices a fifth year girl across the common room staring up from the essay she's been scribbling. "I don't like her," Draco finishes in a low voice.

But Theo isn't convinced. "If you're not sulking," he says, "what are you doing?"

"Studying."

Draco throws his feet onto the couch, gets comfortable, returns his attention to his Herbology book. He shakes his head at the ridiculous notions, all of them: that he should fear Granger's retaliation, that he's _drawn_ to her, that Theo could be the source of such enlightenment. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!


	4. part one: scene four

In the spring, Granger joins the growing number of students who have been Petrified. She lies utterly still on a bed in the hospital wing, her eyes open and glassy.

"Mr. Malfoy! You're not to be traveling through the castle without an escort," Madam Pomfrey reprimands. "And visiting hours ended at ten!"

"I know, and I'm sorry. I just wanted -"

But Draco isn't entirely sure what he wanted. He isn't sure what he _felt_ , other than an undeniable urge to see Granger. Maybe to prove to himself she's only Petrified, not dead.

"The Mandrakes will be ready soon?" he asks.

Madam Pomfrey's expression softens. "Yes, dear, any day now," she says. "But that doesn't mean it's safe for you to go wandering around alone at night. I'll have to send for you Head of House to take you back to the dungeons."

"For Snape? No, Madam Pomfrey, please. Please, could you -"

Draco's panicked eyes flicker over the Petrified girl, and suddenly the matron understand. Hermione Granger is a Muggle-born witch. And Severus Snape and the boy's father, Lucius Malfoy, are friends.

"Could you get Professor McGonagall instead?" Draco begs. "That'd be okay since she's Deputy Headmistress, wouldn't it?"

Madam Pomfrey nods. "Of course, dear."


	5. part one: scene five

On the first day of classes their third year, the new teacher for Care of Magical Creatures, groundskeeper Rubeus Hagrid, introduces his students to hippogriffs. Ghastly things in Draco's opinion, oversized horse and eagle hybrids. One in particular, Buckbeak, loves Harry Stinking Potter. Of course it does; the entire universe seems to think Potter can do no wrong. Buckbeak happily flies him once around the paddock, but changes his tune when Draco approaches.

There's a flash of steely talons, a high-pitched scream, and then blood, so much blood blossoming over his robe.

"I'm dying! I'm dying! Look at me, it's killed me!"

"Yer not dyin'!" says Hagrid, lifting Draco from the ground. "Someone help me. Gotta get him outta here..."

It's Granger who runs to hold the gate open. At least that's the way Theo tells it a few days later, after Draco's returned to the dormitories, his arm bandaged and in a sling.

"And then I heard her ask Potter and Weasley if they thought you'd be alright," he says.

"And you think that should please me, hmm?" asks Draco with forced scornfulness. Luckily, Theo's never mentioned his suspicion in front of anyone else so there's no real need to be upset.

"It pleased me," Theo says. He shrugs in a way that indicates he's willing to drop the subject. For now.


	6. part one: scene six

Draco heads straight to bed after the Halloween Feast that year, exhausted by his first trip to Hogsmeade. But before he manages to fall asleep, the Slytherins are all summoned back to the Great Hall.

One casual wave of Professor Dumbledore's wand and the long tables fly to the edges of the room and stand themselves against the walls. Another wave and the floor is covered with hundreds of squashy purple sleeping bags.

"Sleep well," the Headmaster says. He exits and closes the door behind him.

The hall immediately begins to buzz excitedly. "The Fat Lady's missing, and her portraits been slashed! Peeves said it was Sirius Black!"

Some hours later, Draco wakes to the sounds of someone stirring, someone speaking.

"- less noise if I didn't drag it with me. But if you see a spot -"

"Why'd you want to move in the first place?"

"Someone's snoring over there. Seamus, I think. I've woken up half a dozen times already."

It's Granger, clearly annoyed by the line of questioning. Granger and -

"Alright, alright. I'll help you find a spot. But you should have asked before getting up and moving around."

The Head Boy, Percy Weasley. That's who's giving Granger a hard time.

The two Gryffindors inch their way through the Great Hall, Percy now with his wand lit, looking for a sleeping bag without a lumpy student in it. When they get close to the doors, close to the end of the hall where the Slytherins sleep, Draco is pleased to be able to share that the bag next to him is empty.

Granger climbs in, not noticing at first who's come to her aid. But just as Percy's wand light fades, she sees Draco's pale face, his gray eyes.

"I like your collarless shirt," she says dryly, her voice almost inaudible in the darkness.

It takes Draco several seconds to make sense of the reference. "This hardly counts as public," he says once it clicks.

Granger scoffs and turns her back to him.


	7. part one: scene seven

"Look at him blubber! Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic? And he's supposed to be our teacher?"

Potter and Weasley both make furious moves towards Draco, but it's Granger who gets there first.

SMACK!

"Don't you _dare_ call Hagrid pathetic, you foul - you evil -"

"Hermione!" exclaims Weasley, grabbing at her hand as she swings back, ready to strike a second time.

"Get _off_ , Ron!"

She pulls out her wand, and Draco steps backward. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, his lackeys since first year, look at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered.

"C'mon," Draco mutters, and in a moment, the three Slytherins disappear into the passageway to the dungeons.

Arithmancy is Draco's next class, the only one he and Granger have together that they don't also have with Potter, Weasley, Crabbe, and Goyle. Part of him would like to skip, but his stomach's already in knots; he senses he'll have to apologize if he wants to make it to the end of the day without falling down a shame spiral, without risking doing something he'll regret even more than having to apologize.

This is so much worse than when he called her a Mudblood, Draco thinks.

Hastily, he exchanges some of his school books for others and climbs the staircases to the seventh floor, to Professor Vector's classroom. He hears nothing of that day's lecture, simply waits for the bell to ring. Then, as their classmates file out of the room, Draco catches Granger by her arm.

She jerks away instantaneously, opens her mouth to begin berating, but the apology has already begun.

"I need you to know that I'm sorry. What I said about Hagrid - I don't know why I say things like that. I don't even mean them most the time. Hagrid's - Well, he's not my favorite teacher, but I don't think he's pathetic. Honestly, I don't."

If looks could kill! Granger's still fuming. But Draco barrels on, hopeful.

"I'll ask Father to get the sentence revoked," he says. "I don't know if he'll agree to it, or if he'll be able to, but maybe he doesn't - the hippogriff, I mean, maybe he doesn't -"

"Have to _die_?" Granger shrieks. She's too angry to wait for a reply; she's out the door in a flash.

Everyone's heard about the slap by dinner that night, and everyone at the Slytherin table wants to know what Draco plans to do about it.  
"I've got a few ideas," he tells them sinisterly.

But it's not enough to quell the commotion.

"I heard Hermione skipped Charms today," Tracey Davis gossips.

"I heard she caused a scene in Divination, called Trelawney a fraud and stormed out."

At that, the knots in his stomach tighten so much that Draco thinks they'll shatter, that their pieces will dispatch into the rest of his body and form an endless number of new knots. He doesn't know Hermione Granger well enough yet to consider her strange behavior could mean anything other than worst.


	8. part one: scene eight

A city of tents stretches in every direction at the Quidditch World Cup. Early in the morning, adult witches and wizards are waking up, starting to cook breakfast. Some, with covert glances around them, conjure fires with their wands. Others strike matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this won't work. Walking steadily forward, past tent after tent after tent, Draco catches pieces of conversations in strange languages, and though he can't understand a word, the tone of every single voice is excited.

Up ahead, in a patch of green-clad Ireland fanatics, he spots a handful of Hogwarts students from his year. Gryffindors: Potter, Weasley, Finnigan, and Thomas. But not Granger? That seems unlikely.

Wait, there she is. A couple meters closer to him, looking at a vendor's cart, at scarves and figurines.

In place of a greeting, Draco blurts out the question that's been eating at him all summer. "How'd you do it?" he asks.

Granger jumps, nearly drops a miniature Barry Ryan, Ireland's Keeper. Apparently, she finds this amusing. She's grinning when she asks, "How I'd do what, exactly?"

"Save that bloody chicken?"

"Buckbeak?" she asks innocently, reminding Draco of their first train ride to Hogwarts. "I had nothing to do with that." She returns Ryan to his place, moves to the other side of the vendor's cart and picks up a pair of binoculars. Fiddling with its settings, she adds, "Did you even speak to your father about that like you said you would?"

"Does it matter? The thing's alive, isn't it? And you'd already decided to hate me until the end of time no matter what I did, so -"

It's a bold move. Bolder, Draco thinks, than when he apologized. The buzz of the World Cup must be getting to him. But will she understand? Will she realize the depth of what he's just confessed?

"I don't hate you," Granger remarks. There's nothing tender in the way she says it; she's simply stating a fact. But then she sets down the binoculars, looks Draco straight on. In a more serious tone, she asks, "When did you stop hating me?"  
Is Draco imaging something that isn't there, or is the message between the lines that Granger knows what he feels for her, that while she doesn't feel it back, she's flattered… and maybe even enticed?

Draco shoves his hands in his pockets, glances away then back again. Forcing playful confidence to mask his fear he says, "When did I stop hating you? I don't know, Granger. I think maybe I'm a pendulum swinging back and forth. I'll probably hate you again in ten minutes."

Granger nods. "Right. Okay, well… enjoy the match," she says. She's grinning again as she rejoins her friends.


	9. part one: scene nine

Draco never _hated_ Granger. And if he was a pendulum swinging, he was swinging between denying and acceptance the extent of his romantic feelings for her. But that stopped the second he heard about Buckbeak getting away. If Granger could pull off something like that without getting caught -

Clever, thoughtful, surprising, brave. Back at Hogwarts, he names the traits that make him want her. And not in the way he used to want a stable full of horses or to play all summer in the creek. Not because she's off limits, but because of who she is. And because when he, Draco, says terribly hurtful things (as he's prone to do), she doesn't get worked up about it the way Potter and Weasley do. Instead, she rolls her eyes or turns his insults into banter. She gets him. She sees who he really is hidden underneath who he's been told he has to be, and she accepts him.

Unfortunately, Draco's not the only one coming to terms with wanting Hermione Granger. To his dismay, the boys in Slytherin speak of her often these days. Of her taught legs, her full lips, her growing chest.

"She's matured nicely," they say.

"If it weren't for her teeth -" adds Graham Montague one day on the Quidditch Pitch.

No matches this year, not with the Triwizard Tournament going on and all, but the Slytherins get out to the pitch at least once a week regardless.

"Didn't you hear?" says Lucian Bole, smacking a Bludger away. "Malfoy's fixed that for us."

"That hex was meant for Potter," Draco says dismissively. Mentally, he adds that Granger's teeth weren't so bad to begin with.

"You don't think she's fit?" asks their captain, Marcus Flint, suddenly noticing how Draco clams up whenever Granger's mentioned.

Draco shakes his head. "I don't think she's fit," he lies.

"Who would you say _is_ fit? Parkinson?"

The team sniggers. Great, so they've heard the pug-faced, unrightfully proud Pansy Parkinson is meant to be Draco's date to the Yule Ball.

"I'd never have heard the end of it from my parents if I'd taken anyone but her or Daphne," Draco explains. "And Theo plans to ask Daphne, so -"

And Draco can't risk upsetting Theo.

Montague shakes his head sympathetically. "Your parents take that blood purity stuff too far," he says.

"Don't I know it," Draco grumbles under his breath.


	10. part one: scene ten

From the dancefloor at the Yule Ball, Draco notices Theo sitting at a table by himself, staring off intensely. Thinking he's upset about Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini having snuck off to snog, Draco goes to comfort his friend. But before he can say anything, Theo yanks him into a chair, points haphazardly at another table nearby. He's not upset, he's entranced.

"You - you're - fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing!"

Granger's mouth falls open at Weasley's accusation. "Don't be so stupid!" she hisses. "The enemy? Honestly, who's the one who wanted his autograph? Who's the one with a model of him up in their dormitory?"

Weasley chooses to ignore this. "I suppose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?"

"Yes, he did," says Granger. "So what?"

"What happened? Trying to get him to join _spew_ , were you?"

"No, I wasn't! If you really want to know, he - he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!"

Draco doesn't want to hear this. It's hard enough trying to enjoy the ball when Granger's date is an international Quidditch star. Hearing the whole story behind it could only make things worse. He stands to leave, but Theo yanks him into the chair once more.

"Theo, really, I don't -"

"Shhh. This could be good for you."

Suspecting further attempts to dismiss himself would only prove futile, Draco lowers his head to the table, closes his eyes. He tries to turn off his senses. Unfortunately, he can still hear parts of the argument.

"- Harry knows that."

"- a funny way of showing it!"

" _The whole point of the tournamen_ t-"

Draco's head jerks up. Granger's really shouting now.

" - _is supposed to be international cooperation! To make friends_!"

"No it isn't! It's about winning!"  
"Ron," Potter chimes in, trying to deescalate the situation now that several people are staring, "I haven't got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum."

Weasley ignores this too. "Why don't you go find Vicky," he says to Granger. "He'll be wondering where you are."

Granger jumps to her feet. "Yeah, you know what, I think I'll do that." She's out of the Great Hall within seconds, lost to the coordinators.

Soon, the Quidditch star himself appears, a drink in each of his hands. He asks Potter and Weasley if they know where his date's gone.

"No idea," Weasley mutters. "Lost her, have you?"

"Vell, if you see her, tell her I haff drinks," says Krum, and he slouches off.

"Made friends with Viktor Krum, Ron?" Percy Weasley, now a Ministry employee helping with the Triwizard Tournament, has bustled over, rubbing his hands together and looking extremely pompous. "Excellent. That's the whole point, you know: international magical cooperation!"

It's too much for Theo; he bursts out laughing. He pulls Draco away from those they've been eavesdropping on, and says, "Go find her. Tell her what Percy's said. Be the one who cheers her up."

Draco hesitates. It's decent advice, but to take it would be a confession. Then again, Theo's been convinced of the truth for so long already…


	11. part one: scene eleven

It takes some time, but Draco eventually finds Granger sitting at the edge of the Black Lake under the towering beech tree. Since leaving the Great Hall, she's acquired a dark cloak and draped it over her dress robe. It's clear she's been crying, still _is_ crying, though the worst of it seems to have passed.

"I don't want to talk about it," she tells Draco as he approaches.

Okay, so he won't mention Percy. What to say then?

Draco sits, matches Granger's posture: arms wrapped around bent knees. He looks up, searching for an idea to discuss, and settles on the first one that presents itself.

"Did you know I'm named after a star? Everyone on my mother's side of the family is."

Granger looks at him questioningly, then the faintest shadow of a smile forms on her lips. "I think you're named after a constellation, actually," she says.

"Is that not what I said?"

"You said star."

"Right. Well, a constellation. One that never sets; you can see it all year long."

"If you're in the Northern Hemisphere," Granger amends, her smile growing more distinct.

"Wow, seems you know a lot about me, Granger."

She laughs. No, snickers. It's a short and airy sound. A lovely sound. "I pay attention in Astronomy," she says. "That's not really the same thing."

There's a long silence after that as Granger wipes away the last of her tears. Eventually, she lies back in the grass and, being the braver of the two, dives in: "Listen, I don't want to talk about Ron or Viktor," she says, "but if you want to talk about whatever it is you're feeling, if you want help me understand…"

Now it's Draco who laughs in a short, airy way. He's laughing at himself, at his foolishness. He should have known Granger would necessitate such direct communication. He doesn't mind explaining himself. Rather, he doesn't mind Granger knowing. But putting it all into words, knowing where to start -

"Alright, well, I think you're… You're brave, and kind, and talented. And…" Draco picks at the grass blades between his legs as he speaks, thankful Granger is lying down and can't look at him straight on. "And interesting," he says. "Surprising, I mean. You often surprise me… And I like that on the few occasions it's been just the two of us together -"

How to describe that feeling?

"When I'm around you, just you, I don't feel pressured to put on a show."

There's another silence, this one not as long as the one before. Then -

"So when you say hurtful things or try getting others in trouble, _that's_ the show?" Granger asks, her tone calm, a genuine question. "You spend most of your time pretending to be someone you're not? Someone less pleasant than you really are? Is that what you're saying?"

Dammit. That sounds ridiculous. It's humiliating. Draco suspects Granger didn't mean to offend but -

"I don't want to upset you," she confirms, sitting up again, "but it sounds like you like the _idea_ of me, of being with me or being able to attract me, more than you actually like _me_. Don't get me wrong, those were kind adjectives you used, and I appreciate them. But, I think… I think all you really want from me is confirmation that you're not a bad person. You want acceptance from someone you respect. But that's… That's not the same thing as wanting a partnership."

It's a lot to process. What Granger's said _sounds_ feasible, but it _feels_ all wrong.

"Think of it this way," she continues. "What if right now I wanted to go back inside and dance with you, for us to share a dance in front of everyone else? You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Bloody… Draco suddenly feels as though he could cry. "Not because I care what anyone inside would think," he answers softly.

"But because word would get back to your parents?"

Draco nods slightly, sadly. Tears well up in his eyes.

"Then you don't want me as a partner," Granger explains sounding almost apologetic. "You want me as a secret confidence boost." She squeezes Draco's arm gently, affectionately. "Try to let it go, okay? Maybe that'll be easier now that we've talked about it," she says.

After she's gone, Draco stares out at the Black Lake, his mind foggy yet churning. He realizes that some miniscule, previously unacknowledged part of himself had thought that when the time came to make a decision, he'd have chosen Granger. Now he knows differently. Now he knows just how deeply he cares about the power and prestige that comes with his family's name, his family's traditions.

For the first time, Draco wishes he didn't care about these things, but reality is reality.


	12. part one: scene twelve

For the Leaving Feast, the Great Hall is normally decorated with the winning House's colors, but tonight black drapes hang on the wall behind the teachers' table. Draco knows t they are there as a mark of respect for Cedric Diggory.

"There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight," Professor Dumbledore begins, "but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here, enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses to Cedric Diggory."

They do it, all of them, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang students alike; the benches scrape as everyone in the Hall stands, and raises their goblets, and echo in one loud, low, rumbling voice, "Cedric Diggory."

Draco catches a glimpse of Granger through the crowd. She isn't crying as he'd expected, as so many of the girls are, but searching the Slytherin table instead. Looking for him, he expects. Checking on him.

She cares. Not to the extent he cares about her, Draco assumes, but enough to check. It's comforting and frightening.

The students all sit again and Dumbledore continues: "Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff House. He was a good and loyal friends, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about."

Of course, rumors had already been circulating. And of course, Draco knows which ones to believe.

"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

A panicked whisper sweeps the Great Hall. People stare at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looks perfectly calm as he watches them mutter themselves into silence.

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so - either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as a result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory."

"Do you think our fathers were there?" Goyle suddenly whispers.

It's a painfully irritating question, firstly because there's absolutely no doubt in Draco's mind that their fathers were there and secondly, because that's not the sort of thing a person should wonder about aloud, not even in front of fellow Slytherins.

"If you manage to score anything other than Trolls on your exams next year, Goyle," Draco hisses, "I'll have to join Diggory beyond the grave, death by shock."

Dumbledore goes on, finding reason to praise Harry Potter's heroics as he does at the Leaving Feast every year. And then, finally, his words seem to be coming to an end.

"Every guest in this Hall," he says, his eyes lingering on the Durmstrang students, "will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again - in the light of Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.

"It is my belief - and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken - that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst.

"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time would come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."


	13. part one: scene thirteen

The Headmaster's words haunt Draco that night, causing him to toss and turn in bed until he cannot take it any longer. He throws his blankets off, trudges barefoot into the dungeon corridor. He aches to see Hermione Granger, to seek comfort from her, but knows he'll never manage to get past Gryffindor's Fat Lady. Maybe he'll go to the hospital wing instead, to Madam Pomfrey who can administer a sleeping draught. Or, maybe -

Yes, that's what he'll do. Draco slips through the castle and eventually taps on Professor McGonagall's office door. She answers wearing a long sleeping gown and a worried look on her face.

"What is it? What's happened?" she asks hurriedly.

Draco shakes his head. "Nothing. Nothing new. Just -" Suddenly, like that night with Granger by the Black Lake, he's near tears. Reality hits hard. "I'm afraid to go home," he whimpers. 

Never before has Draco seen such kindness is a professor's eyes. McGonagall waves her pupil into her office, closes the door behind them. She gestures to one of two wingback chairs near a crackling fire. Draco sits and she does too.

An uncomfortable tension briefly builds, neither of them knowing how to begin.

"It was rumored near the end of the last war that Malfoy Manor was their Headquarters," McGonagall says after a bit. "You suspect it will be again?"

Draco shakes his head, unsure. "I - I hadn't thought about it as clearly as that. I've heard those rumors too, but… I keep picturing him there, Professor. Not an entire army of Death Eaters, just him. I don't know what he looks like, haven't seen pictures or anything like that, but..." Now Draco nods, coming to terms with the idea. "Yeah, I think you're right. At least, I think Father would _want_ it that way, for the Manor to be Headquarters."

For a moment, McGonagall looks unsure of herself, something that has never happened during Draco's Transfiguration lessons. Perhaps she senses there is something specific he came to share, if only she would prompt him with the right question.

"What else have you been picturing, Draco?"

Draco hesitates.

"That he'll recruit you?"

What? No! Is that -

"Is that even possible? Recruit me? I'm barely fifteen."

McGonagall presses her lips together tightly, communicating her regret. She didn't wish to further alarm Draco.

"There was one nearly as young as you last time, your mother's cousin Regulus Black. Many more were recent graduates of Hogwarts, just seventeen and eighteen years old. I imagined you'd heard their stories and feared your own would turn out similar. I brought it up only to remind you you're an Unexpendable, Draco. Lord Voldemort knows this; he will not recruit you for an active role in the war. He will not put you in direct danger."

Unexpendable. The tale had never been told to Draco outright, but he'd gotten the gist over the years.

A century ago, the patriarchs of the four most prominent Pure-blood families - the Malfoys, Notts, Yaxleys, and Burkes - went to extreme measures in attempting to guarantee their surnames would carry on forever. Not wanting daughters who would take another's name when married, they used the Dark Arts to ensure their children would all be males. But the Dark Arts always breed unforeseen consequences. Instead of producing multiple boys each, the Malfoys, Notts, Yaxleys, and Burkes were cursed with generations of siblingless male children. As such, the patriarchs had jeopardized that which they'd hoped to guarantee. The responsibility of carrying on their surname, their Pure-blood lineage, fell to only one son in each family. The Unexpendables.

But what if that son could not find a suitable bride? What if that son turned out be a Squib? What if, Merlin forbid, that son grew up to be a blood traitor?

"He'll know I'm a blood traitor." Staring into the fire, feeling hardly himself, Draco abruptly admits what brought him to Professor McGonagall's office in the first place. "If he's as gifted an Occlumens as everyone says, he'll know. The second he sees me…"

Again, the professor is momentarily unsure of herself. Which questions would help her student open up more? Which would make him balk?

"You're referring to your affection for Miss Granger?" she asks.

Surprised, Draco glances from the fire to McGonagall, then away again. It's stupid, but he can't bring himself to nod. After a while, he says the only thing he can think to say:

"What should I do, Professor?"


	14. part one: scene fourteen

Draco spends as much of summer as he can at the edge of his family's property, at the cottage where Grandfather and Grandmother Malfoy lived before they passed away. The cottage rests near the creek, the one he couldn't get enough of as a boy, and is filled with the magical community's most popular books. Draco reads them as he lounges in the garden, the creek's trickling noises in the background. It's a relaxing atmosphere, an escape; for most hours each day, his fears are subsided.

In the early evenings, though, as the hour to return to the Manor for dinner nears, fears grow anew. Attempting to combat them, Draco recalls his conversation with Professor McGonagall once again; this is his routine: counting the declarations she made.

One: Lord Voldemort - the Dark Lord, as his parents would say - is highly unlikely to use Occlumency without provocation. So long as he isn't given a reason to distrust Draco, he won't invade the boy's thoughts.

Two: even if Voldemort were to use Occlumency, he wouldn't aim to do so unnoticed. He'd ambush Draco's mind. And an ambush, at least one of that nature, isn't so difficult to guard against. Not for someone like Draco, Professor McGonagall had assured, someone who'd already spent so much of his life manipulating his own thoughts. Trying to lie to himself.

"If he does ambush your thoughts," McGonagall had instructed, "direct him to a different fear, something at least partially rooted in truth. A fear that you won't be able to impress him, or that your father is risking too much. Anything reasonable, and he'll accept it. He'll assume his talent for Occlumency is far superior than a teenager's talent for Legilimency, so he won't search any further. His arrogance will keep you safe. "

Draco hadn't been convinced. "That sounds much easier said than done, Professor," he'd asserted. "I'll be telling myself, 'Don't think about Hermione Granger,' and then he'll know to search my thoughts for anything, _everything_ to do with her."

Professor McGonagall inhaled deeply at that, gathering her patience. "Fine. If he does detect your interest in Miss Granger, convince yourself, as I'm sure you used to, that what you feel for her is only lust. Lord Voldemort would find that permissible, so long as you have not ardently chosen her over your family's traditions."

Discussing lust with his Transfiguration teacher! It should have been embarrassing, but McGonagall was all business, all the time.

Now, sitting in the garden by the cottage, Draco grins at the memory. Then, immediately, he frowns. Other than a few attempts with McGonagall, he hasn't actually practiced Legilimency. There hadn't been enough time before the summer holiday began, leaving Draco still unconvinced of his ability to keep Voldemort from discovering he's a blood traitor. A blood traitor who adores Harry Potter's Muggle-born best friend…

But that's where declaration number three comes in.

Three: if necessary, if called to do so, an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix will intervene. Draco's got a Galleon that's charmed, linked to a twin at the Order's Headquarters. All he has to do is squeeze the coin as tight as he can for several moments. That's all it would take to alert those who would come to his aid.

Best not to risk those lives if it can be avoided, though. Moreover, best not to risk the lives of Draco's parents unless his fears truly seem to be turning into reality. That's how Professor McGonagall explained it anyway, the reasons she gave for sending him back to Malfoy Manor for the summer instead of moving him to a safe house.

And so far, it appears she made the right call. Though Draco had accurately foreseen the dark wizard in his home - he'd visited Lucius several times over the holiday - Voldemort largely ignores the boy, giving only a glance here, a nod there. Mercifully, that is all.

Yes, Draco's fears remain. But tonight, as he crosses his family's property, heading to the Manor for dinner, they are minimal. Most likely, tonight will be more of the same. Inconsequential. It's more out of habit than anything else, then, that he counts and recounts the declarations.

One: it's unlikely Voldemort will use Occlumency against him. Two: if he does use it, Draco might be able to defend against it. Three: should he need them, he's got allies and a coin in his pocket.

One: it's unlikely…

Draco enters the foyer, calls out to his mother.

Two: if he does…

He pushes open the drawing room, not registering the absence of dinnertime aroma.

Three: should he need -

It hits him like a hex to the chest: Cecilia Nott is dead.

Draco has stumbled upon Theo Nott resting his head in Narcissa's lap, his eyes bloodshot, cheeks puffy and streaked with tears. And he knows only one reason Theo would cry like this.

Cecilia Nott must be dead.


End file.
